You can’t show up to a yacht party in St. Bart’s in your hoodie and jeans. You’ll never see the quarterdeck. Rihanna went for mostly naked. Solid call when you can’t make up your mind. I don’t remember any girls at the prom going that showy, even the easy girls went pouffy. It was their night to feel special. For Rihanna, a small bikini bottom and that thing grandma wore when we had to start locking her in from the inside was more than enough. She’s a fashion icon which sounds like a huge fucking burden because you can’t get really stoned and eat ice cream. You can only get really stoned.

Instagram notified a bunch of celebrities their accounts were being Purged, meaning some of their bogus followers were being deleted. Kim Kardashian lost 1.3 million pretend fans in a few hours, Rihanna 1.2, and Katy Perry 300,000 because her people are wholesome and less like obvious Spam Bots. Humans are easily swayed. You tell them you’re popular and just like that you are. Let alone you don’t do anything besides get pearl necklaced on Beta or cut a hook you didn’t write every few years give or take. Paying for followers is highly necessary when you’re dramatically uninteresting. I’m convinced David Spade did this with actual women in the late 1980′s. This is a new generation. Fake it till you make it. Then keep faking it and deny your popularity is not only greatly exaggerated but also based on a vast conspiracy called taking one of those free classes on Social Networking at the Apple Store.

I don’t know who the last Puma Global Ambassador was, but I guess they did a shitty job or got caught skinning a maid in a hotel room as Ambassadors seem to do. The German athletic wear company swiftly announced Rihanna as a replacement. She’s also being named the Creative Director of the Puma Women’s Apparel Line, the face of Puma for Fall 2015, and she will appear on the cover of the next printing of Puma’s We Didn’t Do Shit During World Word II color picture book that sits on their headquarters coffee tables. It’s unclear how Puma’s cross burgh rival Adidas will counter this major celebrity signing, but they’ll probably continue to rely on David Beckham as their outside man with Hitler’s fluid encased brain providing general corporate strategy.

Nobody understands the aroma of rogue love better than Rihanna. It might smell like the back of Chris Brown’s hand or the taste of a Barbados fishing charter boat deck after too many mojitos and Strawberry Cough, but mostly to Rihanna, it smells like:

…that moment when love first hits you with a wild rush that goes through your whole body, A mixture of fresh citrus and succulent peach with juicy berries.

I’ve ever experienced that kind of fruit-filled sensual rush before. Though I’ve come close while erotically perusing a farmer’s market with Emmanuelle in Bangkok. Rogue Love is so complex, it requires yet another paragraph of overwrought description:

The scent is likened to the fluttering of the love-struck heartbeat with layers upon layers of lush, rich florals. The petals are a radiant texture with vibrant colors of honeysuckle, jasmine and orchid splashed with the simply irresistible seduction of coconut”

I’m from the northern climates so I’m going to assume I can substitute the seductive scent of moldy keg lines and Frank’s Hot Sauce for coconuts when tapping the erotic memories in my own hippocampus. I’m not sure who buys this shit at $70 a pop, but I’m guessing it’s the millions and millions of people I like to pretend don’t run this planet because we can’t possibly be that naive.

It simply shouldn’t be that hard to find famous foreign chicks with loose morals to coat in baby oil and get half naked for the cameras. We used to have a dozen or more magazines that did precisely that. Everybody got drunk and high and shot fun pictures and men leered the results. Now everybody’s got a sensitive vagina, including half the men. You can’t leer anymore. I wish I could travel back in time to a simpler age when men were men and died early from untreated syphilis. Better to burn out than fade away. Leppard forever. Fuck yeah.